


erase and rewind

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 20:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: Thinking of him as Andrew was just too personal now, and after everything that's happened, she wasn't sure it was right anymore. After all, she had chosen, and it hadn't been him. And now they had to live with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will probably be rendered obsolete by the coming episodes of season 15, but for now, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Comments and feedback are appreciated. Thanks.

DeLuca's been looking at her with that expression on his face all day. Everywhere she looks, there he is, with those eyes, that tilt of his head. 

It's hard not to think of him as Andrew anymore, just after she'd gotten used to it. The switch from DeLuca to Andrew had been challenging enough, but the switch back in her mind was now proving just as difficult. But it has to be done, she has to create some distance, even if it is just with words. Thinking of him as Andrew was just too personal now, and after everything that's happened, she wasn't sure it was right anymore. After all, she had chosen, and it hadn't been him. And now they had to live with it.

He's been fine though, Meredith acknowledges, apart from the intense dark eyes that she feels on her sometimes. They aren't jealous or angry, or even sad really. It's an expression she finds hard to read, but either way, something about it feels like she's been stripped bare before him, to her most basic parts, and there's nowhere to hide.

At the time, at the moment when she'd broken the news, he'd been so calm and so respectful. But she'd seen the wretchedness that had settled behind his eyes, despite their attempts to mimic his forced smile. A part of her was almost disappointed that his fiery Italian blood hadn't chosen that last moment to stake his claim, come out fighting one more round. But he'd reacted with a maturity that belied his age, his young face. He'd kissed her gently one last time, and wished her luck. And a little part of her had curled up inside. Meredith can't lie about the fact that when she went to bed that night, she had cried. Cried for causing him pain, even if he had been too kind to show it, and cried for the path not taken.

Especially now, a few weeks on, when she feels the path she's treading is sitting uneasily under her feet.

And it was unfair, she knows, for her to feel this way. Link is great. He just is. He's all the things that a woman could want on paper. Handsome, successful, funny, kind. There is nothing wrong with him. And that's what makes the way she feels even harder. How can she still be uneasy and uncertain about her choice when, after all, she had weighed it up, made it thoughtfully? Did she not trust her own judgement anymore?

"Ready to go?"

She turns, and Link is there. Tall and broad, dressed casually because it's either that or scrubs with him. He's smiling, his jaw wide and teeth straight, like something out of a catalogue, like some sort of chiseled statue. Frankly, it's ridiculous.

"Yes," she nods, tucking her bag over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

\---

Link doesn't stay over yet, that's still a work in progress, like something she needs to ease into. She has children to think about and he's fine with that, much like he seems to be fine with everything. He takes her out to dinner. They laugh. He's got a good sense of humour, and she likes feeling light and unweighted with him. He's so laid back and it seems such a change from every other relationship in her life. He causes no problems, makes no waves. 

He kisses her goodnight at the door, and it's good. It's not setting her heart on fire at the moment, but it's good. And maybe she only feels that way because she's always tired, and her body can't quite be awakened from its slumber. But he's a good kisser, she's appreciative, although she feels no ache to invite him inside, to break the rules they've agreed on. Besides, something's niggling at her, and she's not sure what it is.

Her mind goes to Andrew again - no, no, DeLuca. She thinks of the way he used to walk her to her front door, and kiss her like it was the only thing keeping him alive. It made her feel powerless, the way her body reacted to him. It had always been hard to move away, hard to deny him entry over the threshold of her doorstep. She did, because those had been the rules, but god, it hadn't been easy.

But, as she'd told herself later, passion can't always sustain itself. It's exciting, it's compelling. But it's not safe and secure. Passion makes things complicated, and she was at a stage in her life where she didn't need complicated. Besides, it just really wasn't practical to have a man making her stomach lurch every time he was in her proximity. The strength of her reaction to Andrew frankly terrified her. How could it possibly last, how could she possibly endure a feeling like that in her life again? 

No, no, she'd chosen for the best. 

Hadn't she?

\---

The next day, she scrubs in on a routine surgery to take her mind off things. The operating room is her distraction. She doesn't need to think about boys and the problems they bring. She can focus on what needs to be done, what is right in front of her. It brings a calmness that she hasn't been feeling recently.

The odd thing is that picking Link, in theory, should've been the solution to her edginess. At first, having the option of two men had been fun, until it wasn't. Until it became obvious that the longer it went on, the more difficult it would be for everyone involved, including herself. So she'd made a choice. 

She mentally ticks off Link's long list of attributes. She's done it time and time again, in these moments when her thoughts chase at her, when she needs reassurance. But the truth is that Link's qualities are no better than Andrew's. They are just different, of course they are. They're like chalk and cheese, except for apparently their similar taste in women. But, if she's honest, there's no clear deciding factor that separates them apart from one thing.

Link, and a relationship with Link, is uncomplicated. It's easy. He's safe and being with him doesn't scare her. 

But Andrew's the opposite. Everything about the idea of being with him is complicated. From his age, to the fact that technically she's his boss. There would be so much to navigate, to figure out. Nothing about that situation feels easy to her. Andrew isn't the safe choice. He's the risk. And while he may not perceive himself that way, she's older, she's wiser, and so she has to be the sensible one. Sure, he's the one that seems to be under her skin, but does she need that feeling in her life anymore? She had that with Derek, she was lucky. But that feeling had almost destroyed her at times too, and she's not ready to go through that again.

So yes, her brain tells her - her choice was sensible. Her head wins. And it's early days, there is time for things between herself and Link to develop and deepen further. But her heart seems to want a say in all of this too, and it seems to want to sing a different tune.

She's almost finished the procedure, when she senses his eyes on her again - like her body's created an internal radar for it. She glances up, and he's in the gallery with the gaggle of interns. They're all looking at the body on the table, the general hustle and bustle, but he's looking at her, like she's the only thing in the room. He nods his head in acknowledgement as their eyes meet. It's civil, professional even, although it feels deeply personal to her somehow. The next time she glances up, he's gone. She tries not to feel too disappointed. 

\---

She promises to meet Link at Joe's after her shift. It's a bit later than she expected by the time she clocks off, but she knows Link will be there, that he will have waited. 

It's freezing outside so she wraps her coat tighter around herself. Her nose is cold, and she senses rain in the air. It's a relief when she gets inside, into the warm. Eyes searching the room, Link is easy to spot. He's at the bar talking to someone, and as she gets closer, she sees that person is DeLuca.

They're laughing, nursing a beer each. DeLuca's gesturing with his hands in that way he has, and Link's shaking his head in amused disbelief. It looks easy and friendly - not what she expected. She would've been content standing back a bit longer, observing the situation, but Andrew turns his head and spots her, his eyes changing from relaxed to something else in a heartbeat. Nevertheless he gingerly smiles, and Link, following his eyeline, turns too. 

"Hey!" he says, angling his body towards her. "There you are!" Link's acting like she's an old friend, rather than someone he's dating, and she thinks maybe he's just trying to be sensitive because of DeLuca's presence. It's kind of him. Meredith would rather crawl into the ground, but she smiles anyway. 

"Here I am," she says, for want of nothing better. "Hi DeLuca." 

Greeting him is the polite thing to do, but the awkwardness is palpable. The three of them haven't been all together since she and Link had started exclusively dating, and although it was bound to happen eventually, she would really have liked more warning, even a little more time. And besides, how was she supposed to guess that Link and Andrew were... friends? Friendly? Have they hung out before? She searches her brain and finds she doesn't really know the answer. Not that it will help her now.

"Hi Dr. Grey." Andrew's reply is soft but open enough. But the formality of it is like a stab to her heart. This is a man who has made her weak at the knees - still does really, the feeling hasn't just erased itself completely because of the circumstances - and yet here they are talking like mere colleagues who barely know each other. It feels a long way to fall, and really, she supposes, that's what they are now. Colleagues, nothing more.

Technically that's true. But it doesn't feel right. And in those few seconds, she has to quell her anger at the fact that he's so calm about this all, that he's fine with hanging out with Link, like she didn't even matter. She's mad that he's returned to calling her Dr. Grey instead of Meredith, even though she's been trying to do the same to him. Her anger is irrational, she knows, and furthermore, unreasonable. He's done absolutely nothing wrong. 

"Shall we go?" she asks Link, hoping her question doesn't seem rude. But she doesn't want to stick around here, in this situation, any longer than necessary.

As they leave, Link places a casual hand on DeLuca's shoulder. "See you later, man." Andrew tips his glass in acknowledgement, but says nothing. He doesn't look at her.

Walking to her car, she can't help but say something. "I didn't know you and DeLuca were... friendly?"

Link eyes her suspiciously and wraps his arm around her shoulders, like he's the high school quarterback. "Yeah, we're friends," he replies, shrugging, like he's pretending not to note her interest disguised as disinterested small talk. "He's a good guy."

I know, she thinks. I know. 

\---

She has sex with Link that night. It's nice, it's good. He knows what he's doing. She enjoys it. 

And she figures it was time to let him stay over - he'd been patient, and she has no reason not to anymore. Meredith makes him promise that he'll be gone early, before her kids are awake, and that was that, really. And he'd done as he promised, was out of the house before it was even light. She feels slightly guilty about that for a little while, but it's for the best for now. She comes with commitments and she isn't going to feel bad about it.

She wakes up properly that morning to her own heavy limbs and the room smelling unfamiliar. The scent of sex, of a man's body. They were things she was still getting used to, especially in her space. The sex had been good, she tells herself, and she's not lying. It had been slightly awkward at first, as these things can be, learning someone new, how they move, how they like to be touched. But they'd found a rhythm, slowly but surely. She'd been left satisfied. But there's somehow a void still, something missing. Originally, she had thought perhaps this was the missing component - the sex, the physical connection - and that once that final piece had fallen into place, her emotional jigsaw would slot into place too. But that gnawing feeling inside of her hasn't abated. It's still as raw as ever.

The thing about Link, she was discovering, was that what you see is what you get. There was no mystery, no hidden agenda. He was simply as he appeared. It was refreshing, if a little disconcerting. Meredith feels as though she is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some grand problem to present itself. It almost feels too easy.

She curses herself. If anything, she should be grateful, rather than looking for issues that weren't there. God, weren't there times in her life when she would have ached for something so easy, so carefree? Meredith is happy to acknowledge her faults, but this was getting out of hand.

\---

Amelia and Maggie figure it out. It's a sixth sense, a sisterly sense. She's cornered in the attending's lounge late afternoon.

"So how was the sex?" Amelia is nothing but blunt. 

Meredith's first reaction is to deny, but ultimately knows that would be pointless.

"How did you know we had sex?" she asks instead.

"Call it a gift." Amelia says it like it's a normal thing. 

Maggie rolls her eyes. "Don't answer her, Mer. It's no one's business but yours and Link's." Her response seems supportive, but Meredith highly suspects this is a pre-prepared tactic of good cop, bad cop.

"Ugh, c'mon!" Amelia flops down heavily next to Maggie on the seat opposite. "Don't be a spoilsport! Some of us are so settled down that we have to live vicariously through other's sex lives, Maggie. So the least Meredith can do is spill the beans and tell us what the sex was like!"

Meredith's about to open her mouth, to say what though, she's not sure, when she's acutely aware that Amelia and Maggie have gone strangely silent, their eyes focused at a point behind her.

Amelia bolts upright, like a soldier standing to attention. "DeLuca! Hi!" Her voice is falsely cheery, her volume loud to the point of excruciating. Meredith feels her stomach drop, knowing, just knowing, that he must have heard at least the tail end of Amelia's comments.

"Schiaparelli's scans are back," she hears him say, his tone giving away nothing. Meredith doesn't even want to turn and look at him, but everything in her bones is telling her that he's overheard everything. She feels a little sick. Maggie's eyes widen, as if trying to silently communicate to her. "I think you need to take a look," Andrew's disembodied voice floats behind her from the doorway, swimming in her ears. Meredith doesn't move, doesn't turn, even if that's the coward's way out.

"I'll be right there," Amelia's saying breezily, and Meredith doesn't move again until she hears his retreating footsteps. 

Meredith lets out a frustrated groan and places her hands over her face. 

\---

She doesn't see Andrew for the rest of the week, which is unusual even in a hospital of this size. She knows he's there, because she sees his impossibly scrawled signature on things, notes the names of his patients, their room numbers. She draws the line at detouring past where she thinks he might be, because that's a step too far, and honestly, what could she hope to achieve? She doesn't even know. 

The incident in the lounge is weighing on her mind, even though she knows it shouldn't be. And besides, she shouldn't be embarrassed about having sex with Link - it wasn't like everyone was going to assume they weren't. But Meredith feels a little responsible for not being more sensitive about it, a bit more cautious. Again, she tells herself, Andrew's feelings shouldn't be her problem - that's to say, if he has any feelings on the matter at all, because she's assuming there too. He's an adult, not a child, and he's proven himself to be respectful and mature about the situation to date. And he might be fine with the whole thing, he might have moved on.

It's not a thought she wants to dwell on for too long.

\---

It's eight full days before they cross paths again. Link's stayed over twice more, and Meredith's had a chance to berate Amelia about discretion in the meanwhile.

And their paths don't really cross exactly. But she sees him finally. She feels something like relief to know that he's around and that he's not vanished off the face of the earth. Her eyes trace over him before confirming that he looks the same. His white coat is rumpled at the back, like its been sat on awkwardly. He's wearing his usual watch and his hair looks freshly washed. His body language exudes tiredness, like he's nearing the end of a long shift. He's still undeniably easy on the eyes, not that that matters.

She clocks all this in an instant, filing away the information. Her heart feels a little lighter, but that's natural she thinks. She still cares about him, despite everything, so she shouldn't feel bad or guilty about the reassurance that the sight of him has given her.

Meredith thinks about going to say hello, but as she gets closer, she notices the nurse he's talking to. She's pretty, very pretty. She has a young sweet face, rounded cheeks, apples rosy. She looks like something out of a fairytale, like a character in a book that one of her kids might read. And it would've been fine, she thinks, but she recognises the look on that nurse's face. It's an expression she's probably worn herself at some point or another. It's the wide eyes, and the way she's angled her body towards his, a little closer than necessary. 

Something akin to ice runs through Meredith's veins, so strong and so fast that she physically stops in her tracks, stares. They don't notice her, and for that she's glad.

The nurse is smiling, looking up at him through dark lashes. There's clear flirtation going on, from her side at least. Andrew, for his part, seems more focused on the surgical board over her shoulder, his eyes scanning quickly before darting back to her every few seconds as she speaks. But then he turns and smiles broadly at this girl, this woman, and Meredith knows all too well the effect of that smile. It's just the way he happens to smile, because she's noticed, she's paid attention. But even from here, she thinks she senses something soft in it, almost tender, and her stomach drops, fists clench. 

The pretty nurse beams back, and Andrew leaves. She watches him walk away. 

Meredith's eyes are stinging within their sockets. Her face feels hot. Something isn't right, none of this is right, she thinks. A realisation is becoming clear, but it isn't one she wants to hear from herself, despite the mounting evidence. Link's a good guy, a great guy, she knows this. She doesn't want to ruin something that isn't broken, that is actually even working. But at the same time, there's DeLuca. Andrew. The man she wants to forget but she can't seem to. A man who can't even smile at another woman without Meredith's insides curling up in jealousy. 

She needs to think, but at the same time she can't face the thoughts swirling around in her head. She consults the board. Surely there's something she can scrub in on.

\---

Watching Maggie's careful sutures as she repairs a heart, Meredith pretends its hers that's been under the knife. She admires Maggie's perfect work and wonders if her own heart can be mended so quickly.

At her arrival, Maggie had shot her a confused look, a raised eyebrow, but had sensed better than to question it. Maggie's OR is a quiet place. A room of calm and peace, very little talking, where possible. Meredith thought she needed the quiet, but it only gives her room to think.

When they're done, Maggie waits until they're alone before saying anything.

"Are you okay?"

Meredith wants to lie, it's second nature to her. She's good at lying about how she feels, or at the very least, lying by omission. She doesn't want to lie to Maggie, but she's not sure she can even explain what's wrong anymore.

"Meredith?" Maggie tries again, her eyes searching. They're Richard's eyes. "Is this about DeLuca?" The question is kind, yet anxious. 

_Yes_ , Meredith thinks. The admission to herself is difficult to bear, and it sets her pulse racing.

Meredith sets her jaw, takes a deep breath.

"No."

She leaves the room.

\---

She walks around in a daze the next few hours. She hides in her makeshift office. She checks on some patients, glances over some films. Goes about her daily business, externally professional as always. But her mind, at the same time, is galloping. She thinks about Link, all the things she likes and appreciates about him. How he makes her laugh, is a decent cook, and is good with her kids. How his hand sits on the back of her neck when he kisses her, how the palm of his hand feels on her skin. 

But he's not Andrew. And that, she realises, is the problem.

\---

She pages him to an on call room, knowing that it's sending out a certain message, but no longer caring. A small part of her wonders if he'll even come, but the larger part of her knows he will, because he's a good doctor despite everything, and Andrew won't run the risk of not answering a page, even from her. 

She hasn't thought about what she's going to say, or even what she wants out of this situation. Meredith's not sure she truly knows. She only knows that nothing will be settled in her mind until she sees him, talks to him. It's her hope that once she's in his presence again, once they're alone, she'll be able to see things more clearly.

The wait feels agonising, but in reality, it isn't that long. He arrives quickly, looking flustered. It isn't a state she's seen on him very often. He's a bit out of breath, like he's been running.

"Dr. Grey?" His tone is suspicious. "Is everything alright?"

She's sitting by herself in a darkened on call room, so she can understand where his question is coming from. But she still feels distaste for the way he's addressing her. _Dr. Grey_. Outside this room, she's willing to understand it, and can hardly judge when she's been trying to do the same to him. Turn him from Andrew back into DeLuca. But they're alone right now and so it feels ridiculous for him to call her that when, in the not too distant past, he had had his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her body. 

"Andrew." Leaping to her feet, she watches as he closes the door behind him, doesn't lock it. "Hi."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Hi?" he echoes slowly, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his lab coat. It's the first time they've been alone together in quite a while, and Meredith's aware of how her body wants to react to his presence. She tries to ignore it.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she says, hand dragging across her forehead, trying to look anywhere but at him. But she can sense his eyes scrutinising her, and the sensation feels so familiar that she's thrown back in time to an x-ray room, to him being bold, opening himself up to her. Why can't she go back there? Where exactly was the point when everything started to go wrong?

"Well," he replies quietly, gently, "I don't know what I'm doing here either." Andrew tries out his usual amused smirk, but it falls flat. She can tell he's too nervous and too uneasy about the situation to really put any feeling behind it. Her eyes trace the line of his jaw, angular and tense. He looks like he wants to make a run for it.

"I can't think," she confesses after a moment, her hands wringing together. "I have things I need... want... to say to you, but I can't think." Meredith feels strung out, jittery, unable to stop her feet pacing, unable to stand still. There's a pressure building in her body, like she's on the verge of god knows what. She doesn't know the outcome of this at all.

He huffs in a slightly bemused way, exhales loudly. "Trust me, I know the feeling." 

His words get her attention at least. But she can't tell if he's angry with her or something else. When had she stopped being able to read him? Andrew had always seemed like an open book, almost too willing to tell her precisely what he was feeling. At the time it had felt both wonderful and terrifying. But now, he comes across as determined to give nothing away, instead almost willing to let her suffer, offering nothing more than his focused stare. 

"Andrew, I..." she trails off, the cluster of thoughts in her head finding no natural starting point, no topic sentence. She takes a step towards him, a little into his personal space. He stays very very still, eyes following her. He says nothing, but Meredith notes how his chest rises and falls a little quicker than before. It gives her something to cling to. 

She tries to start again, but the words won't come. Her mind won't co-operate. From here, she can smell faint traces of aftershave lingering on his skin. She recognises it as it assaults her senses, invades her memories. She can sense the warmth of his body heat, even though they aren't touching. Maybe this would be easier if they were touching?

"Andrew, I..." she repeats, more desperately this time, as if willing the words to come through sheer determination alone. Hot tears start to well behind her eyes. Her frustration must show, and it's only then he takes pity on her. Removing a hand from his pocket, he clasps his fingers gently around her wrist. It's nothing, but it's everything. His stoic facade has fallen away to concern. 

"Meredith," he whispers gently, voice low. The way he says her name, her actual name, sends currents down her spine. His thumb traces over the pulse point of her wrist. She doesn't know if it's accidental but something about the gesture stills her mind. It's like a crisp clear signal piercing through the noise of her brain. It's what she needs.

Her lips tumble towards his like she's been spring loaded and he's a target. She's clearly taken him by surprise, but she frankly doesn't care. She really should care, because Meredith should definitely be thinking about Link, and all the reasons why she picked him in the first place. She should also be thinking about all the reasons why the idea of being with Andrew feels too scary, too real. Instead, all she is thinking about is how she wants him to put his hands, his mouth, on her. Her blood is roaring in her ears, and so she's falling into Andrew, desperately, stupidly.

Andrew takes a moment to react, but when he does, it's everything she could have wanted. It's everything she remembers it to be. It's the way that every atom of her body feels alive and on fire, and in that moment, Meredith's not sure why she ever thought she could give this up, turn away from this. The way his arm threads around her back is a relief. It tugs her into him, her frame pressed completely against his. Her hands claw at the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer, like she can't get enough purchase on him, get him close enough to her. It's like she wants to be enveloped by him, even though that's ridiculous. But even now, even with their bodies flush against each other, it doesn't feel anywhere near enough to satisfy her. She wants to be possessed, consumed, spent.

His mouth is hard and urgent against hers, like a desperate man given one last dying wish. She welcomes it, the sharp relief of knowing that he's not indifferent, anything but. Her teeth scrape against his bottom lip, the sensation visceral, raw. Her fingers wind through his thick hair, tugging to an extent that he lets out low grunt, as if she's hurt him, but it doesn't stop her. If anything she wants more, opens her mouth wider, invites his tongue further. She's burning up. She needs him. Now. Yesterday. Months ago. Everything else feels like a waste of time. 

His hand is still sealed around her wrist, like he's part clinging to her, part restraining her. His grip is firm, but not tight, not enough to hurt her at all. If anything, it's the lightning rod, the true connection between them that she senses he doesn't want to break. This kiss feels like a battle, like a war they're waging on each other, one of hurt and regret and frustration. In the depths of her mind maybe she wants to wound him, to make him pay for the pain that he's caused, even though that's unfair. She knows that any pain she's feeling is only what she has inflicted on herself. That's what makes it harder to bear, harder to forgive. Ultimately, he's blameless, his only sin being that everything about him makes her feel out of her depth and out of control. 

Without thinking, her desperate brain working overtime, she moves to push his lab coat off his shoulders. Her only thought is to get closer to him, as if peeling away his outer layers will peel away her own mental ones. But her forceful movements and her newly clear intentions are enough to give him to pause, to hesitate. She can feel the jolt that shocks his body, the motion of him pulling away abruptly. 

The room is silent apart from their breathing, laboured and heavy. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. His lips are swollen and red. Hers must be the same, she assumes, the skin on her face alive with friction. 

"Meredith." His voice is low, full of too much. Her heart soars, until it doesn't. 

His demeanour has changed, his face too serious. Meredith doesn't want that, she wants to continue to live in this bubble with him for a bit longer and not think about anything else, anyone else, for a while. So she leans forward to kiss him again, even though she knows it will be no use. As suspected, he stops her, instead releasing her encircled wrist and taking a slow step back and out of her proximity. 

"Stop. _Stop_." His eyes look sad, haunted, like saying the words physically pains him. He takes a breath. "Are you... are you still with him?" 

The words are a gut punch, but she can't even feel mad at what she knows is coming. In fact, she mostly admires him, because Andrew's a stupidly good man, and she doesn't have the right to feel surprised when he keeps on proving it to her.

Meredith doesn't want to answer him, to acknowledge the hard truth of it all, and so stubbornly says nothing, eyes glued to his in pathetic defiance.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, because he already knows the answer, even if she won't say it. 

"Are you still with him?" He looks desperate, wild, his hair a mess from where her fingers have run through it. "Because, I can't- I _won't_ do this, if you are."

The way he says it makes her ashamed. And she is, of course; ashamed of her actions and for putting him in this position. It's a position that she knew would hurt him. Meredith's learnt enough by now to realise that underneath his confident exterior, Andrew is actually softhearted, thoughtful. He would never willingly hurt others, never morally compromise himself if he could help it. And yet, she's made him do all of those things by proxy. 

The way his face falls breaks her heart. She can trace the disappointment in every line, blossoming out to every nerve ending in his body. She hates that she's disappointed him, for not being the person that he thought her to be. But she didn't set out for this. This wasn't planned.

Her resolute silence seems to exasperate him. The muscles of his neck tighten, his expression setting itself in harsh lines. It's disconcerting for her, to see him look at her like that, when before it had been so otherwise. When he eventually speaks, it's rough with hurt and frustration. 

"This isn't fair, Meredith. You're not being fair."

And then he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith knows she has some thinking to do. And it's hard to think when Link holds her hand, and smiles at her in that way he has. He's so good for her in so many ways. Everyone loves him. Her kids love him. But she's coming to realise that she doesn't love him. Not like he deserves. And although she had been willing to give that a chance to grow, to flower, Meredith's realising that perhaps that isn't the way things should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for their kind words on the previous chapter. They really meant a lot. I hope you all like this chapter too!
> 
> #TeamDeLuca
> 
> A special thanks to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) for her kindness and for listening to all my ramblings <3

Meredith feels wretched. Like she's been made hollow, her insides scooped out. She lies in her bed, alone, and stares at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that doesn't come. The house is quiet, too quiet. 

Her phone has been quiet too. She's been watching it like a ticking bomb, but now its resolute silence is torturing her. It only serves as a reminder of her guilt. And every time it does vibrate, she feels sick to her stomach. Is it him? 

It's never him, it hasn't been him for the past few days. She stares at her last message, sent after that fateful afternoon, a simple "I'm sorry". The words don't change, and his reaction to them doesn't either. She tries to trick herself into thinking there's another reason for his silence, for his lack of response, but she's no idiot. She deserves what's happened here.

Link has noticed something's wrong, even though he's too nice to push her. She's become a closed book, to him, to everyone. Maggie and Amelia have been eyeing her suspiciously, and so Meredith's become an expert at avoiding them. During her time at the hospital, she's only really looking out for one person, and he's the one person she hasn't seen. He's clearly good at avoiding people too. 

\---

It's been a week, and she's about to crack. She's been distracting herself with everything she can think of, but it's no use. 

She corners Amelia at lunch. "Is DeLuca on your service today?"

Amelia's got a sandwich half in her mouth. She frowns. "No," she mumbles through a mouthful of bread. "Why?"

"I-I just haven't seen him around." Her answer feels weak, and it's rightly rewarded with Amelia narrowing her eyes. 

"He's on leave, I think."

"Leave? Since when?"

"I don't know - like, a week ago, or something? Ask Karev."

"No, no, it's not important," she lies. But even to her own ears she doesn't sound convincing. And Amelia's not stupid. She knows the history, knows enough about what's happened between them, even if she doesn't know about Meredith's most recent mistake. 

Amelia looks serious, suspicious. "Mer, what aren't you telling me?"

Her response is quick, sharp. "Nothing."

"Mmm, sure. What's going on?"

"I can't tell you."

"Fine. Then don't. But if you're going to be like that then just let me say that... DeLuca's a good guy. If... if you need to figure some things out - about him - then you better do it fast. Because he doesn't deserve to get hurt."

Meredith knows all of this is true, but it still pains her to hear it. Amelia's right, and Amelia knows him too - not in the same way, but she's been held up by him too, supported and treated with kindness in her worst moments. Nothing Amelia is saying is a revelation. It's all as plain as day. 

"I know," Meredith says, walking away. She feels empty and cold.

\---

He's away from the hospital for two long weeks in total. Meredith counts the days, even though she wasn't sure what would happen when the clock ran out. It only seems important to see him. She feels like a broken record, trapped in the same rhythm, the same song. 

She knows Andrew's returned when she spots both him and his sister leaning up against one of the nurse's stations. They're talking quietly to each other, good-naturedly bickering, in a world of their own. Meredith didn't know Carina was back too, but perhaps that's where Andrew had been - with her. He looks tanned, as if he's caught the sun. 

Carina sees her first, and Meredith can tell instantly that she knows. And she doesn't even have the right to feel mad about it, because it's only fair that Andrew has someone to confide in, especially his sister. The DeLuca siblings, Meredith knows, are close. Even if they fight and argue on the surface, their bond runs deep. And so it's only right that if Meredith has offended one, she has by default offended the other.

Carina's expression is a mix of mistrust, but also something softer. Meredith wouldn't call it sympathy, although it's something close. Pity, maybe. That feels about right. She does deserve pity for the choices she's made as well as the situation she's found herself in. If she had left things alone, maybe she and Andrew could've recovered, found a new normal. It may have just been a professional working relationship, but surely that would've felt better than this awful alternative?

But if Meredith is honest with herself, she now knows that wouldn't have been enough either. 

She wants to go over, even if she feels ill at the thought of being near him - seeing the look in his eyes - but something in Carina's face warns her away. Although he's perfectly capable of looking after himself, Carina is also protecting him. Meredith hates the idea that it is from her.

\---

Meredith knows she has some thinking to do. And it's hard to think when Link holds her hand, and smiles at her in that way he has. He's so good for her in so many ways. Everyone loves him. Her kids love him. But she's coming to realise that she doesn't love him. Not like he deserves. And although she had been willing to give that a chance to grow, to flower, Meredith's realising that perhaps that isn't the way things should be. 

After all, she's known the intensity and thrill of a big love, even though it had been hard and painful at times. She has no regrets about it, none at all, apart from the people that got hurt along the way. 

But she's older now - more circumspect. And she didn't expect for those types of feelings to still be within her, and she'd been content with that. 

Security, safety. Those were good feelings too. And surely if something feels good, then that should be good enough, right?

Link is full of good feelings. And in another world, another place, she'd be so happy with her lot. 

Link's perfect. Apart from the fact that he's not Andrew DeLuca.

Andrew gives her big feelings. He gives her heart stopping, tongue twisting feelings. He's reduced her to a teenage girl in the first flushes of love, and she's been so been determined to fight it, to quash it down. Big feelings scare her, and so she'd run in the opposite direction, into the arms of another man. 

\---

Link is a gentleman about it, but Meredith feels horrible anyway. She doesn't tell him the reasons for her decision, but she senses he knows somehow. He truly is too good for her, far too accepting of the news she bears. A part of her would much rather that he be upset, be angry, but that's not his style. He's disappointed, sad even, and that feels right. He dries the tears that streak down her face, because even though she's making this choice - the right choice finally - it doesn't sit easily. But she knows better than to ask herself if it's a mistake this time. 

Her life slowly returns to some sort of rhythm. Work, kids, sleep. Rinse and repeat. The repetition feels calming, even though she know it won't last. 

She doesn't know if Andrew's heard about her and Link, and whether the hospital grapevine has worked in her favour on this occasion. Nothing is ever a secret for very long. But either way, she's not sure what she envisages. Does she expect him to fall at her feet after all that she's put him through? Andrew's never been shy about the fact that he wants - _wanted_ \- her, but even he must have his pride, his dignity. She thinks she's put him through too much for them both to recover what they could've had. But she can't know until she tries.

That would be fine if not for the fact that, in the meanwhile, he's become a ghost, a fleeting shadow in the corner of her eye. He turns corners as she approaches, or makes conversation with someone else. She can't seem to pin him down, and he seems to want it that way.

Perhaps she should take a hint, she thinks, before knowing that she can't, she won't. She's too far gone. He needs time, that's fair. He gave the same to her once. But how long is long enough? 

\---

She's in the elevator with Owen when she's finally confronted with Andrew again. She's distracted, browsing through some charts, leaning against the back wall, when she hears the doors open, footsteps, then shut again. She pays no attention.

"Hey DeLuca." Owen's casual greeting jolts her out of her reverie. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she raises her eyes, takes him in. He's standing next to Owen, his back to her, but he's clearly seen her. Something in the energy of the room has changed, it is tense where it hadn't been before.

"Hey." His reply is directed at Owen, but his head shifts enough so that it feels directed at her too. She knows her eyes are boring into the back of his head, willing him to turn properly, to look at her fully - _acknowledge_ her. She begrudges Owen's presence, even though he's just an innocent bystander in all of this. 

The silence feels oppressive in her mind, though probably not in a way that anyone else would notice. But nevertheless she feels like she's frozen in place while he's this close. She's been rendered powerless to say, or do, anything at all. Her eyes trace up the long plain of his back, the way his shoulders rise and fall. She imagines resting her head in the spot between his shoulder blades, imagines how the muscles would move under his skin.

Meredith doesn't want to feel this way. She's unaccustomed to the burning need that seems to plague her nowadays. It annoys her, frustrates her. She wants to control it, but can't. 

Both men exit the lift on the third floor, her chance slipping through her fingers. Her mind wills him to stay, but he doesn't. The image of his retreating back is like that day in the on call room all over again. But although it's quick, almost too quick, his head turns, eyes catch hers briefly, before he walks away. Meredith can't read his look, it's too fast, but it makes her heart squeeze tightly, her breath catch in her throat.

But it's over before it's begun, and someone else has joined her in the elevator. Carina. The air in the room somehow manages to feel as tense as before, if that was even possible.

"I'm sorry," Meredith's blurting out, only half seconds after the doors have closed on them. They are alone.

If Carina's surprised, she does a good job at hiding it. She sighs, shakes her head, and stands facing Meredith. She doesn't seem to need any further explanation for the outburst.

"It is not me you need to apologise to." Her accent punctures each syllable, but her expression remains cunningly neutral. She and Andrew don't share the same eyes, but the focused stare is the same.

"I don't think he'll forgive me."

Carina watches her, clicks her tongue in thought. "Yes, he is... hurt by you. He does not tell me everything, but he does not run away to Rome over something that means nothing to him. And I know my little brother. He is..." she searches for the right word "...vulnerable with love. He takes it seriously, although he may pretend he does not."

Meredith tries not to focus on the word love, even though it causes something to stir inside her. "I realise that now. But if he won't talk to me, how can I get him to forgive me?"

Carina smiles a little, tilts her head to the side, just like her brother does. "You will find a way if it is important to you. Andrea is... stubborn. So perhaps you will also have to be stubborn."

The advice settles in her mind, gives her a ray of hope amongst the clouds that have been hovering over her for what feels like forever. 

"Thank you," she says, grateful to Carina. She has no reason to be nice to her, apart from the love she bears for her brother.

Carina smiles as the elevator doors ping open, and she steps out.

"Do not thank me yet," she answers as the doors slide shut.

\---

"Do you need a resident today?" Bailey's asking her, and it's like a gift in the face of all that's been going wrong lately. "Grey?"

She's forgotten to answer because her brain has launched into overdrive. Does she dare?

"Yes," she nods, determination washing over her. "DeLuca, if possible."

Bailey raises an eyebrow, stares her down. Bailey's definitely not stupid.

"DeLuca?"

"If possible."

"Mmm, it's possible. But is it smart?"

Bailey's right. It's probably not smart. Because although Bailey pretends not to listen to the gossip that circulates the hospital, Bailey definitely doesn't ignore it either. And Meredith knows what she's thinking.

"He's a good doctor," Meredith knows it's a flimsy excuse.

"I didn't say he wasn't a good doctor. I asked, is it smart?"

In all honesty, it's not, she knows. She's also not sure Andrew will appreciate what she's about to do when he finds out. But she's tired of living like this, on a knife edge, wondering how to fix this problem she's created. So she's taking action. 

Meredith looks Bailey dead in the eye. "Why wouldn't it be smart?" It's a challenge if ever there was one. And although Bailey doesn't believe for a second that she doesn't have ulterior motives, it's clear that Bailey is also not particularly in the mood to get into that right now.

"Fine," she says. "DeLuca it is. Try not to do whatever it is that you two are doing right now."

Meredith must look confused.

Bailey gives her a look. "You know. Fighting. Or making eyes at each other. Ignoring each other. Or something else that I don't want to know about. I can't keep up."

Meredith laughs for what feels like the first time in weeks.

\---

Meredith had predicted right. He's not impressed. 

"Dr. DeLuca," she says, greeting him as if everything is fine, as if she's not breaking into a million pieces on the inside. "You're with me today."

His face remains steadily neutral, like a mask has been put over his features. She hates it, hates the way he's barely there, not the Andrew she knows. This one is a pretence, a stoic facade of professionalism and courtesy but nothing more. 

"So I heard," the words are articulated carefully, his voice as neutral as his face. "Dr. Shepherd has said she can spare me for the day."

"You'll be with me until this... case is resolved." Meredith glances up, watching for his reaction. There's a flicker, barely there, but it's something. He hasn't missed her full meaning.

"Fine," he replies, sounding anything but fine. It's like talking to a wall, she thinks. A very attractive wall, but still.

\---

He does everything perfectly, of course he does. He does everything she asks promptly and with precision. She can't fault an inch of his work, an ounce of his dedication to their patient. He's calm and considerate, answering endless questions, providing countless reassurances. She couldn't have done better herself.

Meredith wishes she knew how to handle this better though, wishes that it hadn't come to this. But even being in the same room together is a start. Even though it hurts her every time he doesn't quite meet her eyes, instead staring at his feet, at a chart, anywhere but her. She misses how he used to look at her, eyes warm and deep, and full of things that she couldn't interpret. 

It's after lunch when she spots him again. He's eating an apple on a gurney outside the patient's room, feet dangling over the side. He's hunched over a chart, frown deep across his brow in concentration. A dark curl of hair is sticking out at the nape of his neck. Her insides seize up, and she feels suddenly exhausted from walking this tightrope all morning. She doesn't know what she had been hoping for, only that it hadn't been this painful purgatory they'd found themselves in.

She watches as he launches his apple core towards the nearest bin quite a few feet away, and gets the shot in one. Smug. But it's the happiest she's seen him look all day. He looks around to see if anyone's noticed, and sees her.

"DeLuca," she says, drawing level to him. She's so close that his dangling foot could touch her shin if he bothered to reach out. "Everything okay?"

He bows his head over the chart. "Vitals stable, OR booked for tomorrow."

"Good," she replies limply, the silence hanging in the air.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyes lifting to hers, and that's all it takes for her to realise that the way she's gone about this is a huge mistake. That he's right not to forgive her if she's never even bothered to ask.

She takes a breath. "No. No, it's not. Can we speak privately?"

He searches her eyes for a long moment, and in the end, he nods. Before she can say another word, he's hopped off the gurney and is striding ahead, and she can only assume she's meant to follow him. His legs are longer than hers, and she has to hurry to catch him up. He's led her to an empty conference room, is waiting there for her by the door. The room is devoid of any personality, and lacks the intimacy of an on call room, which was probably why he's chosen it.

She files past him, trying with all her energy not to brush against him in the narrow doorway. The room is stifling, like it's been closed up for a while, the air stale and muggy. She hears the door click shut behind her, and so she turns.

He's there, leaning back against the door, like he wants to be near enough to it to make a quick escape at any given moment. She's not sure whether to sit or stand, to face him or not. There's a feeling of deja vu in the air, only this time she's got a plan, she thinks. She hopes.

"DeLuca," she starts before stopping herself. "Andrew," she corrects, hoping she's not already gotten things off on the wrong foot.

A expression of sadness crosses his face, and in that moment he looks lost. 

"Meredith," he replies blankly. She knows it's a concession, the way he's calling her that - but she'll take it in the circumstances. It's more than she expected given how things have been. But the way he says her name, the way it rumbles through his chest, still makes her ache inside.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she says, voice emphatic and sincere. She hopes he can hear how much she means it. "I'm so sorry for what I did. For how I behaved. You were right. I wasn't being fair to you. You were absolutely right."

Her blunt words have hit the mark. His mask is already falling away, the cracks underneath now evident. His eyes look heavy and worn in a way she hasn't noticed all day. She did that, she knows. She's the reason. 

He seems like he may say something, but instead runs a hand through his hair, down the back of his neck. His scrubs ride up enough that she can see a sliver of smooth skin of his waist, and Meredith tries to remain steady on her feet, remain focused. Her body sways towards him as if magnetised.

A heavy sigh escapes him, rough and untethered. It's a long moment before he speaks. "Thank you... for saying that." 

"I should have said it - to your face - a lot sooner than now."

"Yes, probably." He's smiling tentatively, lips tilting up in the corners in that way he has. It's a start.

"You seemed to want to avoid me."

"I... I went away, for a bit."

She remembers Carina's words. "To Rome?"

He looks surprised that she knows. "Yes. To see her. To check on my father. To get some space." It's clear that he means from her, from this situation, even though he's too polite to articulate it.

A silence settles again. She has to fill it.

"Can you... can you forgive me?"

The words set Andrew in motion. He pushes himself away from the door and towards her, but stops just outside of arm's reach, like he doesn't want to get too close, like he remembers the last time that happened. Her heart's jumped into her mouth, and she's alarmed at how quickly the balance of power has shifted. He holds her fate in his hands, and she's afraid of the answer either way. Meredith's not used to having to chase, and she's certainly not used to having to chase him in particular. Somewhere she thinks she hears the ticking of a clock, even though there isn't one in the room. Maybe it's in her head, a way of counting the seconds before he answers. It's hard to stay focused, to stop her mind running away from her. She wants to take his hand and touch him somehow, but she's scared. His eyes have become fixated on the floor, and she wonders if he's trying to find a way to let her down gently, without breaking her into tiny pieces. The longer the silence goes on, the worse she feels. 

"I... I don't know," Andrew sighs eventually. "I mean, I think I can. Maybe not this minute, but yes. I can forgive you... but I just need a little more time to get used to things. Because," the words are starting to tumble out of his mouth now, eyes lifting to meet hers, "I hate the way things are now, Meredith. I'm sorry, but I do. I hate this situation. I want to be okay with everything and move past it all, but it's hard. I..." he trails off.

The air stills around them, like they're in the eye of a storm. The way he's looking at her is too much. It feels like her skin is on fire from the inside. 

"I miss you," she whispers, through an aching chest. She can't help but bear her soul to him, hold her heart out for him to take. It's as vulnerable as she's been with a man in a long time. 

He exhales, low and deep, like he's in pain. His eyes flutter shut, long dark lashes like rich crescents resting against his cheeks. She can't help it, she reaches for him, lays a palm on his chest. She can feel his body vibrating with tension underneath her fingertips, and she wants so desperately to fold herself up against him but can't bear the idea that he'll turn away. So she's surprised when he leans into her, his head bowing so his forehead is almost touching hers. Nevertheless his eyes remain tightly shut, like he can't bear to look at her. She's too scared to move.

"I... I still want you, Meredith... I can't stop wanting you. I've tried, trust me, I've tried not to want you." His voice is low, hungry, desperate. She can feel his words ghosting across her skin, across her lips. "Even now, even when I've been so _angry_ with you, I've still wanted you. But I can't change what's happened. I can't change where we are now, the choice you made. And I want to respect your decision... but believe me, I wish things were different."

"I don't understand-" she stutters, not following his meaning. It's all jumbled up between things she wants to hear and things she doesn't comprehend. Her hand presses harder against his chest, as if trying to anchor herself against him to stop from going adrift. 

"-I don't either," he finishes in a rush. "I don't understand you, or what you want. I wish I did, but I'm not even sure if you understand it yourself. But I can't be with you like this, Meredith. I'm... not cut out for it." His hand is reaching out, his thumb running a trail under her cheekbone, down her jaw. The gesture is so intimate and tender. 

"I want all of you, Meredith. I've never pretended otherwise," His voice is thick with lust and heat and something else entirely. "But if I can't have that, can't have _all_ of you to myself, then it has to be nothing. Because I won't accept this limbo in between. I won't be your sideline entertainment because you can't decide." Residual hurt and anger lace through in his final words, but she's only more confused. 

He pulls his hand away suddenly from her face, as if he's been burnt. It's like he's realised he's gone too far, said too much. Something's wrong, she thinks, but her brain is in such a fog that the picture is emerging too slowly for her to put it into words. And it's too late anyway, he's turning away, already retreating from her like a man possessed. Before her thoughts can even catch up, he's thrown open the door and disappeared through it. He always seems to be walking away from her, always out of reach.

"Andrew!" she calls after him, but her voice is too tight and strained to make much of an impact. Either way, he doesn't hear her or chooses not to. Meredith knows what his confession has cost him, but he's wrong, isn't he? 

Because what he's saying doesn't add up. There's missing pieces in his understanding, and it's dawning on her that he can't possibly have the full story. All this talk of having all or having nothing. It doesn't make sense. There's nothing stopping him from having all of her, no competition, no obstacles. Does he not know that she's got no ties anymore? That she's not with Link?

Oh, she thinks. _Oh_.

He doesn't know. He can't know.

The clarity that runs through her is like a lightning strike jolting her awake. Her heart leaps, a rush of adrenaline pulses through her body. Because now, _now_ , she finally has the power to hopefully change everything with only a few words. She hopes she's right.

He's halfway down the corridor already, strides long and head bowed. The muffled echo of his footsteps bounce against the empty walls. There's no one around for once.

She musters up everything she has left. "DeLuca!" The use of his surname makes him hesitate, calls to his professional side. It's the only thing she has left in her arsenal to get him to stop. And although she hates to do it, use her capacity as his attending against him, in this moment, Meredith's not above doing so if it gets her what she wants. His attention.

He stops, pauses, before slowly turning to face her, staring her down. It's a look Meredith has come to know only too well, and despite the circumstances, it still sets her alight inside. She knows he's complying with her because he's a dedicated surgeon, and she's ultimately still his boss. It's exactly why she didn't call him by his first name. 

Andrew's arms fold across his chest in a gesture of uneasy defiance. It would be sexy as hell if she didn't feel so nervous.

Meredith approaches slowly, taking her time, watching him. Hoping that the string she's about to pull will unravel this whole knotted mess.

"Dr. Grey?" he says calmly, once she's in earshot, his voice belying the fire that's flaring behind his eyes. "Did you need something else?" 

"Yes. I need you to know that-" suddenly she's not sure how to phrase it, so she just spits it out without any art or thought, "-that I'm- I'm not with Dr. Lincoln anymore. We're not together."

He stares at her for so long and so hard that Meredith wonders if he's heard her. It takes a moment for the confusion to finally cross his face, his brow creasing, head starting to shake from side to side. He looks incredulous. 

"What!?" His shock and surprise is evident.

"You hadn't heard?" 

His mouth's ajar, his eyes blinking rapidly. He ignores her question. "What do you mean, you're not together?"

"We broke up, several weeks ago."

"Several _weeks_ ago?" His arms unfold, hands flying up in a gesture of disbelief. 

Meredith nods sedately, feeling odd about being the one who has the answers this time, for putting him on the back foot. 

"So you and he are...?" The sentence hangs in the air, as if he doesn't know quite how to finish it.

"Over. Yes."

"And you are...?"

"Available. Yes." She's trying not to smile, trying not to let herself get carried away, but it's like a weight has been lifted off her chest, like she can breathe freely again.

Andrew still looks shell-shocked, annoyed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew, that you would've heard. And that you were still mad at me." Clearly the hospital grapevine hadn't been as efficient as she thought.

"I didn't know. I hadn't heard." 

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, like he's irritated, puts his hands on his hips. "This doesn't mean I just... automatically forgive you, you know. But we should probably-" he starts. But suddenly her pager rings out, followed moments later by his. He glances down, frustrated. "Trauma," he says, face turning to concern. 

She glances at her own. "Yes, same. We have to go." It's the last thing she wants to do right now, but it is what it is. 

Andrew nods, although there's a sense of reluctance from him too. But he quickly turns serious again. "Can we talk? Later?" His eyes are burning into hers, familiar and yet new. She can't read them, but it's just a relief to find them steady on her again, after weeks of avoidance.

Later feels too far away, but she has no choice, they have no choice right now. "Yes," she agrees. "Come find me later."

Later will have to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a long day. Her back aches, her shoulders hurt. And yet all she can think about now that she's finished her surgery is finding him. It had been a constant in her mind from the moment she scrubbed in, until the moment she was done. And now she's free, and eager to talk, and he's nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient. This took a little longer than anticipated. The upside of that is that this is now going to have four chapters instead of three, and potentially a sequel. So stay tuned!
> 
> As always, thank you to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) for the beta, and for all her invaluable help.

It had been a long day. Her back aches, her shoulders hurt. And yet all she can think about now that she's finished her surgery is finding him. It had been a constant in her mind from the moment she scrubbed in, until the moment she was done. And now she's free, and eager to talk, and he's nowhere to be found.

She doesn't want to text him. After all, later could mean a lot of things. It could mean tomorrow, or next week. Had he meant next week? Meredith's not sure, and does she really want to be that person? They've waited this long, surely a few days can't hurt? She's clutching at straws, trying to convince herself that they have all the time in the world. And while that's true, all she can think about is all the time wasted, all the things she needs to make up for.

Her eyes still search for him as she heads to collect her things, just in case. The trauma had involved multiple casualties, and they'd been pulled onto different cases not long after they had arrived in the pit. In the whirlwind, she hadn't been able to keep track of him.

As a last resort, she takes a detour by the surgical board - just in case, and there he is - or at least, his name, underneath Dr. Shepherd's. The procedure they're doing will probably be a few more hours yet, at least, and Meredith, as much as she wants to stick around, is dead on her feet - and she also hasn't seen her own kids today. She decides to head home.

\---

Home is full of three loud children, and although she's exhausted, they also make her smile and laugh until it's time for them to go to bed. She likes having this routine with them, having this time. It's precious.

The children go to sleep easily, like they can sense their mother is tired and for once, just once, they don't want to fight her. She'll take it.

And although she's exhausted, she also feels completely on edge. She makes herself some dinner, and keeps her phone nearby at all times, just in case something comes through from him. Meredith feels a bit silly, a bit like a school girl, waiting for her crush to call. But it's been a long time since she's felt this way, and so the novelty is still fresh. 

The night wears in, and she knows it's getting too late now - he's been at the hospital all day, and also, they never really said when _later_ would be, so she decides she should just settle in for the night. She runs herself a bath, tries to ease her joints in the hot water.

She's been soaking for twenty minutes when there's a knock at the door downstairs. Usually she wouldn't even bother to move, but it might be him, and she's not willing to risk him leaving. There's no time to get dressed properly, so she throws her bathrobe on over her damp skin and hurries down the stairs. She doesn't know what - or who - to expect, but nevertheless, the feeling of anxiety bubbles inside her with each passing step. There's a flutter in her chest as she reaches her entry way, which quickly turns into a staccato beat.

He's there, profile illuminated in the moonlight, standing hesitantly on her porch. He's tapping one hand against his thigh in an invisible rhythm. She can tell it's a nervous tic, like he's not sure he should be here. He's glancing behind him, out into the darkness of the neighbourhood, as if contemplating turning back and away, perhaps thinking she's asleep.

He looks good, she thinks. It's shallow, she knows, but a girl can't be perfect all of the time, and now is not that time. He's wearing a leather jacket, cut perfectly to his frame, and there's something about the whole look that makes her think of an old fashioned film star, cut from celluloid. 

Her arrival must catch the corner of his eye, because he turns back and sees her through the glass. She smiles softly, becoming increasingly aware that she's hardly dressed, her hair is tied up in a messy bun off her face. This is not how she imagined this moment.

Andrew's already rambling when she opens the door. "I'm sorry, I just realised how late it was. I should've called, or you know, not come. I can go, let you sleep. This was a stupid idea." He's half turning away already but Meredith refuses to have him walk away from her yet again. She's done with that.

"No!" Her cry is a little too loud, a little too desperate, and she feels suddenly sheepish. But it does the trick. He spins back, looks at her. There's a fraction of a smile behind his eyes which she's missed desperately. It feels too long since she's seen it. 

The air is cool as they stand there, staring. She's clutching the door frame for support like it might keep her upright.

"No?" he asks, his eyes crinkling in bemusement.

She knows her face has gone red. It's too late to hide her pleasure at him being there. "Come inside," she offers, opening the door wider and inviting him in. It's been a while since he's crossed the threshold of her house. Even back when she had been trying the dating-two-guys-at-once thing, she'd made sure that neither man had gotten further than the front porch - if only for fairness sake. Thinking back, it had been a way of protecting herself, keeping them both at arm's length while she tossed and turned at night over the decision that lay before her. 

Although her rules hadn't stopped her from kissing Andrew then, because her resistance only went so far. She's only human, after all. And he's an awfully good kisser. 

She closes the door behind him, and they hover in the entry way awkwardly. The light overhead is dim, casting a haze. He's standing a tiny bit too close. His nose is red from the cold night air. 

Meredith's now even more acutely aware of her unattractive bathrobe and her bare feet. She pulls the tie at the waist a little tighter. His eyes travel automatically to the motion of her hands before tracing back to her face.

"Did your surgery go okay?" he asks, as if to fill the void that they seem to have fallen into. She's out of practice with this sort of thing. How does a person get a man to forgive her, after messing him around for months? And how do they get from there to the point where he's kissing her again?

No, no, she's jumping ahead, and she's determined to do things right this time - not to get distracted by his face and body and general person. He doesn't even need to try with her. After all, he's only just standing there and she's already lost most of her concentration. He's shuffling his feet, and she takes that as some assurance that he's not totally unaffected by her either, ugly bathrobe and all. 

"It went fine," she nods, glancing up at him watchfully. "Yours?"

"Touch and go," Andrew frowns, remembering. "But he'll be fine too."

That silence again, it's eating them alive. They just need to bite the bullet.

"We should... have that talk?" she suggests, trying to steer things onto the reason he's here. As soon as she says it, there's a flash of anxiety across his face, and she gets it, because she feels it too, sitting under her rib cage and slowly expanding in size. 

His hands have balled into fists by his sides, clenching and unclenching. She knows he's not a nervous guy by nature, if anything, quite the opposite - is good under pressure, or at least good at pretending. So Meredith's unaccustomed to seeing him like this, even though she's the one who should feel worried. She's the one who has to make amends. 

"Before we do that," he says, a look of determination crossing his features, "I just need to..." 

He reaches for her before she can even blink, his hand cupping her face and pulling her towards him. There's no chance for her to resist - not that she would - before his lips are on hers. The sensation of it is like fire and flame are curling under her feet, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. His kiss is rough, primal, like this is something he has to do, it isn't a choice, and it's not about seduction or winning her over. He touches her as if he's reaching for something that's flying out of his grasp, trying to pin it down before it escapes him forever. It's like that moment in the on call room all over again, except now it's him that's trying to make sense of everything and he's using her mouth to do it. She's not going to lie, she's taken aback, but it's also bliss to have him touch her again, kiss her again, like sinking into hot water, or into a warm embrace.

It's over just as fast as it started. He's already withdrawing his touch, stepping away from her. She falls over her feet a little, thrown off balance by his abrupt actions. His expression is hard to read, but something pools in her stomach, and maybe even lower.

"What was...?" Her question floats in the air, the words feeling numb coming out of her mouth.

He glares at her, and it's anger, lust, despair, admiration, everything all at once. "I know we need to talk - but I can't talk when you're standing there looking like that. Because I'm still mad, Meredith. But I also want to kiss you. It's very... confusing. And inconvenient."

In any other circumstance, she'd smile at the declaration, maybe even be flattered. But he sounds like he means it, there's not really any lightness to his tone. And she understands it, she truly does. 

"I deserve that," she admits, taking a slow step towards him. But he quickly moves again out of her reach, striding off into her living room, as if the motion will help calm his nervous energy. He stops in the middle of the room, turns back to face her.

"So, what's been going on, Meredith?" Andrew's gazing at her expectantly. He looks like he belongs there, amongst her things, in her life. She hasn't pictured a man fitting into her world for such a long time, and yet here he is, tall and stubborn, waiting for her to explain herself. 

Where does she even start with the mess that she's made? She had been so eager to talk to him but she's not sure she's even ready to re-live all the things that she got wrong, the pain that she caused - to Andrew, to Link. She follows him into the room, and tries to find a starting point. 

"Do you want a drink?" It's pathetic, because she now has this forum to explain herself, and she doesn't know how. Her lips are still tingling from where he kissed her.

He frowns, knows she's stalling. "No. Thank you." It's clear he's not letting her off the hook this time, and nor should he. She unclasps her hands, gives them a shake in front of her, as if trying to loosen her thoughts from her mind. He's watching her every move, seemingly willing to wait it out. Meredith wishes she could be as open as him, with his heart on his sleeve, and his emotions at the ready. It's a quality she admires, even though she can't match it. 

"I-" she starts, "I know that I hurt you. Choosing Link. Picking him over you. Or at least, that's how I know it came across." She watches for his reaction, and he's still - listening, attentive, face carefully arranged. One of her hands plays with the lapel of her bathrobe, the fabric soft under her fingertips. 

"But it wasn't that I liked him more - although I did, do, like him." She mentally kicks herself. "Sorry, I know you probably don't want to hear that. But I think - no, I know - it was more about what he represented to me. Does that make sense?"

She's not sure he'll answer, but he does. "What did he represent?" His brow is furrowed in concentration, taking in all of her, all of her meaning. His arms are folded across his chest, a position she's seen him take so many times. In this moment it's defensive, anxious.

She takes a deep breath, thinking of the best way to articulate all the thoughts that have been turning over and over in her mind for the past few months. "He was... safe. Easy. He didn't scare me. Didn't-"

"-I scare you?" Andrew looks alarmed, concerned, arms unfolding to his sides. His face has dropped, eyes wide and wounded. 

"No, no!" They are only minutes into this and already she's messed it up. "I don't mean - you... you don't scare me. But, how I, how I feel when I'm around you... that, _that_ scares me."

She prays he doesn't ask how she feels around him, because she's not sure she has the words at this moment, has barely had a chance to tell herself why this has all been so important to her, meant so much. He looks placated, less injured, at least, by her explanation. There's still a crease of concern between his eyebrows, and he's tilted his head in that way he has, absorbing everything. 

Feeling braver, Meredith takes a step forward. They are still far enough apart that they can't touch, can't reach out for each other. But he's like some sort of force that pulls her into his orbit. He makes no movement of his own, but she knows he's noticed.

"So-" he says finally, now pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, "do I still... _scare_... you?" She can tell he doesn't like the word, although is willing to indulge her.

She could lie, she knows. It would be so easy. But they're past that and she won't get anywhere with him if she isn't honest now. Her toes curl against the rug under her feet, as if trying to ground herself.

"Yes," she answers. It's a bit blunter than she would've liked, but it's the truth. "The thought of being with you, yes. It scares me. Not because of _you_. But because I... I don't want to get hurt again. And I think you could hurt me. I know you'll say you won't - and it's not that I don't trust you, because I do, I trust you. But sometimes people leave, they leave you without it being in their control. And the more you feel, the worse it hurts. And so Link... I knew Link couldn't hurt me like that. That if he left, I would survive. But, with you, I would feel it. If you left, it would hurt."

The tears are pushing against her eyes, and she's trying to blink them back. Her heart swells at the reminder of Derek, and how horrible and brutal it had been. Of George and Lexie, taken too soon. There's not a day that goes by where the loss of them doesn't threaten to overwhelm her. But she's alive. She's alive and she's here, and so is Andrew. He deserves to know. 

He takes a step forward, matching her own from before. He's still too far away, but they are working their way together, even if she's having to lay her faults and her fears out before him like this. 

He removes his hands from his pockets, holding his palms open in front of him. "I understand." His voice is gentle and soft, warm with empathy and kindness. "But you can't run away from happiness because you're scared, Meredith. Even though I know you want to - and I even understand why. But you... you deserve to be happy. I could've made you happy."

His use of the past tense doesn't escape her, settles like a block of cement in her stomach. She nods, because she's not sure she trusts her voice. She can barely even look at him right now, because she feels like she might shatter into little shards of glass. She knows she's been punishing him at the same time as she's been punishing herself. 

"So that day in the on call room?" 

Her eyes meet his sharply. She doesn't want to be reminded of her behaviour then. But no, she tells herself, he's right to ask. It's all part of everything.

She runs her tongue against the inside of her teeth, looking for how to phrase it. "That was me. Trying to be brave. Trying to choose love."

"Love, huh?" His face is still serious, but there's a glint in his eye, like a peek of sun behind a cloud. 

She ignores him, not ready to unpack that just yet. "I didn't know how to tell you that I'd made a mistake. With Link. I was struggling to come to terms with it myself. I went about it the wrong way. And I know I've already said it, but I'm sorry. I'm not proud of what I did."

"Meredith, I know you're sorry. When I accepted your apology, I meant it."

"But you don't forgive me."

"I-" he struggles for the words, "I want to. But you're not the only one who's scared." His face compresses. "You see, there's this woman that I want. That I deeply care about. And she pulls me in and pushes me away. Again and again. And every time it happens, it hurts more and more. And Meredith, there's very little that I wouldn't do to be with you. But you're not the only one who is worried about being left. I know it's not the same, not even remotely. But I knew what I wanted. I was clear about that. And then you went and chose someone else. It was hell."

He's hurt still. She can see it, hear it. And even though he's accepted her apology, she knows the ground she has to make up to win back his trust. She takes another step forward. He's almost within arm's reach now. It's time to lay it all on the line. 

She takes a deep breath, confesses. "I... I should have picked you. I know that." It's taking everything in her not to cry, and yet she still feels the slide of a tear down her cheek, and feels embarrassed for coming undone like this. She wipes it brusquely away. "I let my head get in the way. You were never my second choice, Andrew. I just tried to persuade myself that you were, because this-" she motions between them "-this is a risk. I think you and I both know that. I think we both know how much we could hurt each other."

He looks at her with more patience than she deserves. "Love is always a risk. But it's a risk worth taking, don't you think?"

She thinks back to all the love she's had in her life. Love that has come and gone and been painful and wonderful, and big and epic. She looks at the man in front of her, the potential next chapter in her story. He's thoughtful and strong, he challenges her in all the right ways. She wants to be with him. She knows this now, without a doubt.

"Yes," she agrees, her heart filling up with all those things she had been holding back all this time, for too long. 

He smiles, properly smiles, at her for the first time in a long time. It's warm and kind and filled with hope. He takes a final step towards her. They're inches apart now, standing there in her living room, surrounded by her life and all that comes with it. The scent of him invades her nostrils, sends her synapses firing. 

"I forgive you, Meredith. But I only ask one thing."

"What's that?" Her hands are trembling.

He reaches out, brushes away the dampness still lingering on her cheek. The warmth of his touch is everything. "That you'll stop running. Please don't run from me anymore." 

She knows she can promise this now, and so it comes out as a sigh of assurance. "I won't."

"Thank _god_ ," he smiles, face lighting up. "Can I kiss you now?"

A spontaneous laugh escapes her, and she grins at his eagerness. She doesn't even have time to form a response, just nod, before his lips find hers, softly, timidly, the complete opposite to earlier. It's tender and sweet. 

She also feels relief, weighty heavy relief washing over her, like her body has been tense for months without her really knowing it until this moment. She can actually feel herself melting away and into him, contentedly and willingly. 

She breaks away gently, not wanting to, but there's one final thing she needs to make clear to him before this goes any further. He seems content to just stare down at her, eyes like warm honey. His hands settle on her upper arms, thumbs stroking ever so precisely against the fabric of her robe. She shivers at the idea of being pressed up against him, skin on skin. It's been a long journey to get here.

"There's something I need to ask," she says, before she loses the courage. It's the last thing, but she can't risk not bringing it up - it's the final piece.

He gazes at her, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Are you ready for all this?" She motions to the room, her house, a not particularly veiled reference to mean her life and all the people and things in it. The children, the sisters, the dead husband and the big job. It's a lot, she knows. Meredith isn't a solitary piece on the chessboard, despite appearances, despite the emotional distance she keeps sometimes. She comes with a family, not just blood but water, and a history too - a history of love and loss, and separation and recovery. He needs to know all of that now. Because while he may see it on the surface, know the numbers and figures, he has to be able to slide into the equation too, or this will never work. It's asking a lot of him.

Either way, he knows what she means. His focus flicks from the framed pictures, to the pile of school books on her dining table, to a pile of hospital paperwork next to that. Being with her means sharing her, and he's still a senior resident, with plans of his own, a life that's only going to get more complex with her in it. Everything inside her knows that he's capable of all of that, but she needs to let him walk into this with open eyes, and not just an open heart.

He's quiet, each second passing with more weight than the next. And just when she thinks she can't take it anymore, he leans down, his forehead coming to rest against her own. His voice is a low whisper, and it vibrates into her very core. "When I told you I wanted all of you, Meredith, I really did mean _all_ of you. Every part of you and your life, as complicated as it is."

It's the perfect answer, said in the perfect way. Her heart feels fit to burst with everything that he's acknowledging, and the love that he's so clearly offering. It's too early to say it, even if it's something she feels, but there's time enough for that too.

She presses up on her tiptoes, searching for him, for his lips on hers. A celebration. Her hands slide up his chest, against the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of his body permeating through her hands. She thinks of all the times they've done this, the months of back and forth, and the torture in between, but nothing feels as spectacular as this moment, when the path before her is clear, with the knowledge that he'll be there with her.

His mouth is soft and hot and the way he kisses her feels the same as always, but somehow also totally different now that it's real, now that there is a _them_. She reaches up further, her hands tracing up to his shoulders and then higher again, grasping at the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft curls there.

"Andrew," she whispers, before she can stop herself. She whispers it like a chant against his mouth, feels him smile against her. It's only then that he lets himself run his hands up her arms, to that curve in her neck. He must feel her pulse racing, she thinks, under his fingertips.

But all he does is trace a thumb down into the hollow of her throat, leaving a white hot path behind it, flaring under her skin. It might be the most sensual thing she's felt in a long while. Meredith soaks it all in, the feel of him pressed against her, around her. She revels in the way his mouth moves against her own. 

He pulls back for a moment, and even just for that second she misses him, misses the feel of his nose sliding against her own. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches for her hair, unwinding it from the bun on top of her head. He's careful to not let it catch or tangle, combing each part out with his fingers, every so often grazing the back of her neck. He leans in, presses a kiss under her ear, and she thinks she might go mad when he pulls away again. Meredith catches the way he absorbs her reaction to each of his movements, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth each time he pulls his lips away from her neck, her throat, her exposed collarbone.

She's all too aware that she's really only in her bathrobe and nothing else, his access to her skin unencumbered should he wish it. But he's not pushing her, content to let his mouth find hers again, his tongue tracing a code of something akin to _I want you_ against her own. 

Meredith can't lie. She desperately wants to take him upstairs. Although even going upstairs isn't essential right now. She'd settle for here and now, on her couch, on the floor, against the door frame, if he was willing. But while he is certainly not holding back, he's also being too polite. He's probably right, she thinks. There isn't a rush. But the other part of her just thinks of all the months and months they've wasted, all the time they have to make up for. 

It only takes her a moment, but the decision comes too easily. She reaches for his jacket, bunching the leather in her fists, before pushing it off his shoulders. He's surprised for a moment, she can tell. But unlike last time in the on call room, he lets her complete the motion, allows her to tug the heavy fabric down his arms and Meredith's all too satisfied with the dull thud the jacket makes when hitting the floor behind him. 

Now that Meredith can reach more of him, she doesn't waste time in doing so. She feels the strength of his upper arms under her fingertips, each hand sliding down the smooth skin of his inner arm, the dip of his elbow. She feels the way the tendons and muscles move with him, his solid bulk both a security and an aphrodisiac. His touch settles on her waist, just above the curve of her hips. She wonders if he can sense just how much she wants him. 

"Meredith," he murmurs, between his mouth dragging across hers, each kiss losing a sliver of self control " _please_ tell me you're wearing something under this robe."

She chuckles against his lips, surprised yet pleased. She puts her mouth to his ear, keeping her voice intentionally low. "I'm not wearing anything under this robe."

The exhale that escapes him is the most seductive thing she's ever heard. 

" _Dio bono_ ," he mutters, his head tilting back, eyes skyward, before quickly bringing them back to her. His expression is elemental, fire and ice, and so when he kisses her again it feels as if the same is running through her veins. Everything speeds up then. His hand tangles in her hair, her palm splays across his heart, and then moves lower, crawling under the hem of his shirt, pressing against the firmness of his stomach. All Meredith can hear is her breath in her ears, and the sounds of pleasure that must be emanating from her, even though she's not conscious of it.

His hand rests gingerly on the tie of her robe, as if requesting permission, waiting for her to stop him. But she knows she won't, if anything he's being too slow. Meredith understands his reserve even if she wants to reassure him it's not necessary. She feels the slight tug at the bow at her hip, the slow unravel, teasing the moment when it becomes untethered.

Suddenly there's a loud knocking at her front door, the sound of glass rattling in the frame with the impact.

They both freeze, pull apart. 

A voice.

"Hello? Meredith?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith knows she should react, do _something_ , but in this moment, this second, she's not sure precisely what. Does she answer the door? Pretend she's not home?
> 
> Andrew's looking expectantly at her. He's weirdly calm, which says a lot. In his mind, he clearly doesn't see a problem. And why should he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think that when I started this fic that it would stretch out to the length it has. It has truly been a test of my willpower. But I can only say a massive thank you to everyone who took the time to read this, leave kudos, and especially those who left comments with many kind words. They have meant the absolute world to me and kept me motivated like you wouldn't believe. 
> 
> I have a general plan for a sequel so stay tuned for that - hopefully sooner rather than later.
> 
> And as with every chapter, I literally could not have done this without [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho). Like, literally, could not have. I'm absolutely indebted to her for her patience and endless help and for inspiring me when I was stuck. And for correcting all my elementary spelling mistakes. 
> 
> #TeamMerluca forever, guys.

"Hello? Meredith?"

Meredith knows she should react, do _something_ , but in this moment, this second, she's not sure precisely what. Does she answer the door? Pretend she's not home?

Andrew's looking expectantly at her. He's weirdly calm, which says a lot. In his mind, he clearly doesn't see a problem. And why should he?

"Are you going to get that?" he whispers urgently, his eyes shifting from her to over her shoulder and then back again. The fact that he's whispering indicates that he's understood enough to know that she's in two minds about what to do. 

"I don't know!" she hisses, stepping out of his proximity, like it will help her get some perspective. Besides, she can't think clearly when he's standing so close. Her heart is still racing, from the kissing, from the sudden interruption. She's finding it hard to focus.

This shouldn't be a big deal, Meredith tells herself. After all, they aren't doing anything wrong. 

"It's only Maggie," he presses. And technically he's right. There's no need for her to be concerned. Maggie should have no problem with this, with them, in theory. After all, Meredith had checked with her months ago, back when the dating had first started, before the abrupt end. Having Maggie see Andrew here shouldn't be something to send her into this state of anxiety. So why is she panicking?

She fumbles for the words. "I know, but..." She's not sure how to articulate what she's feeling. 

Andrew's face clouds over, a frown forming. "Are you embarrassed of me being here?" He sounds a little incredulous. 

Her heart sinks. Meredith feels awful that he should think that, that she's made him think that - while at the same time acknowledging how his mind has made that leap, given how she's reacting. "No," she's quick to answer, and she hopes it sounds reassuring enough. "But I'm not sure I can deal with this - her and you and all of that - right now."

He's not wholly convinced, she can tell. But he's also generous enough to not push her while her sister is standing at the front door.

"Do you want me to hide?" His question is a mixture of disbelief and amusement, like he can't quite believe he's asking it. To be fair, she can't quite believe it either.

She carefully considers his offer, while at the same time re-adjusting her robe, pulling the tie firm against her waist to the point where it hurts.

A pause. A sigh. "I'm sorry - but... yes."

Andrew huffs a little. She can tell he wants to say something more, but given that Maggie's knocking on the door yet again, he must think better of it. He leans down, scoops his jacket up from the living room floor, and makes his way through to her kitchen without further protest. His hair is sticking up at the back in a ridiculously endearing way and she can't help but smile despite the circumstances. 

Meredith takes a deep breath, tucks her hair behind her ears, and goes to see her sister.

Maggie is waving at her through the glass. 

"I'm _so_ so sorry! I forgot my key," Maggie explains as Meredith unlocks the front door. She bustles past. "I thought you might still be up. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Maggie's muttering to herself as she heads straight into the living room, and starts hunting for something. Meredith watches from the doorway, in a state of mild panic at the idea that only a wall separates her sister and the man who had very nearly disrobed her just now. The situation feels acutely mortifying. She hovers uneasily, at the ready to waylay Maggie should she think about heading further into the house. She also has half an eye on her kitchen doorway, as if trying to gauge whether there's anything off to such an extent that Maggie may notice. But she's satisfied that Andrew - wherever he has gone - is both out of sight, and quiet. 

"You okay?" she asks, watching her sister pace the room, lifting up random objects, placing them back down.

"I think I left Catherine's birthday present here. I need to give it to her tomorrow - we're going out to dinner."

Maggie finally locates a shopping bag that's been shoved in a corner, and covered by a stack of throw pillows. Meredith hadn't even noticed it, isn't even sure how it ended up there. "Found it!"

Meredith smiles blandly, at a loss for anything to say. Her mind is busy still trying to make sense of what she's just done. Why had the idea of Maggie showing up caused her such panic? After all, she's an adult, Andrew's an adult - and they weren't doing anything they shouldn't. Would she have reacted the same if it had been Amelia? Alex? She thinks maybe she would have, and that realisation causes her to frown. 

Her sister, no longer distracted, looks over at her suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. Maggie's either incredibly perceptive, or not at all, and this may be one of those times when she's the former over the latter. 

"Mer, are you okay? You seem a little... on edge?"

On edge is putting it nicely. "I'm f-fine," she splutters eventually. "Just tired." She stifles a fake yawn to sell it. It's not convincing. 

"Okay..." Maggie replies, sounding less than persuaded. "I'll let you get back to your evening?" Maggie takes a final glance around the room, as if looking for something to confirm her suspicions, a clue. She must find nothing. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Meredith breathes a sigh of relief as Maggie lets herself out the front door, and then feels instantly guilty for feeling that way about her own sister. And anyway, she has bigger problems. Because now she's stuck with trying to figure out how to explain this all to Andrew, who is hopefully still waiting in her kitchen, hopefully not furious at her. Now that she's had the chance to reflect on the events of the last few minutes, she realises her reaction was not really within the parameters of normal. After all, she's not embarrassed of Andrew - anything but - so why did she ask that of him?

She pads her way tentatively through to the kitchen. 

He's still there, she's relieved to note. He's leaning against the counter, looking at her refrigerator. It's plastered with children's artwork, of varying levels of skill. Andrew's expression is soft as he stares at them. 

"Hi," she murmurs, approaching. He's put his jacket back on and she's not sure that's a good sign. In fact, it's definitely not a good sign.

"Everything okay?" he questions, not looking at her, his eyes trained straight ahead. 

She's sheepish. "I'm sorry about that." Her fingers graze against the counter top, cool under her touch. She misses his warmth already, even though he's right there. 

Andrew glances down at her, his expression hard to read. "Which part?" 

She's not sure what to say. Every sentence that pops into her head sounds pathetic. And really, what was the real problem here? 

"This is going to sound like a cliche," she starts, "but it's not you. It's me."

Her attempt at comedy at least makes him smile. He angles his body so he's facing her now, hip pressed against her counter. She considers that a win in the circumstances. An amused smile twists at the corner of his mouth, like it's fighting with the stern expression on his face. He eventually speaks.

"Seriously though, Meredith - is this going to be a thing? You being worried about being seen with me?" He's trying to sound lighthearted, but she can tell his question is coming from a place of genuine concern. Andrew tilts his head to the side, the way he does when he's awaiting a response from her. For all his bravado, he's insecure too, she thinks. Meredith knows his layers run deeper than what appears on the surface, all smiles and charm.

She takes a breath, tries to formulate her thoughts without analysing them too much before letting the words come out. "I... I think I panicked. I'm... out of practice. I just want to get used to this-" she motions between them with one hand "-without worrying about everything - everyone - else."

He looks confused, his eyes sharp on hers. "And you think Maggie knowing would be a worry? I thought she was fine with this - with us?" 

Meredith likes the way he says _us_ , like there is an 'us' now for her to consider. That's new and daunting, while at the same time, it makes her glow inside. And she gets the feeling by the way his mouth quirks up as he says it, that he likes hearing it too. 

Her hands twist together of their own accord. "Maggie _is_ fine with this, but this isn't about her - or at least not specifically about her. It's more that relationships are difficult enough - especially when I'm involved - without the pressure of being under a microscope. And Andrew..." she exhales his name "you know that's what it will be like. And I don't know if I'm ready for that added pressure right this minute. Especially when it's taken us this long to get _here_. After I made such a mess of things." It all comes out in a rush of breath, like now that the thoughts are fully forming she has to express them as soon as possible. 

He seems to understand, or at least, appears to be considering her words carefully. He blinks once. Twice. 

"So... you're saying I'm not some dirty shameful secret?" He's teasing her now, she can tell. His voice is warm and low, and he's leaning in again. She can feel his breath tickle her ear gently. His reaction is a relief, and she's grateful for what feels to be the hundredth time that Andrew is the person he is, so forgiving towards all the things she's unfairly thrown at him. 

Smiling, she places a hand on his leather covered arm, squeezes it gently. "Not unless you want to be?" She's going for coy, but isn't sure whether she's quite made it there.

He raises an eyebrow, chokes back a small laugh. "I'd prefer not, if it's all the same. But seriously Meredith.... it sounds like what you are asking for is some... time?"

That's exactly it, she knows. And she's pleased that he seems to have understood this without getting upset, without taking it as some personal affront. He so easily could have if he were a lesser person. She knows she's not easy. She has baggage on top of baggage, and that makes life with her more complicated. But she gets the impression that Andrew clearly knows this. Knows this and accepts it.

She nods, her eyes tilting up to his. She still can't get over the presence of him, the solid warmth and security that he seems to bring. 

"That's all I want," she confirms, "a little time. Not forever. But just a chance for us to... adjust... before the world has to know."

He contemplates her words, stares down at where her hand rests on his sleeve. Meredith knows she's asking yet more from him - more patience, more concessions. He's been so resilient already, that she feels there must come a point where he resists.

"Okay," he concedes finally, "if that's what you need. But... I'm still going to take you out." He leans closer still. "And I'm still going to kiss you," his lips meet hers softly, for a few seconds, before he pulls away. "Just, you know. _Secretly_." He whispers the last word comically.

She can't help but laugh, and tug him back towards her, searching for his mouth again. She's not sure what she's done right to have found him at this point in her life, after she had given up the idea of feeling anything like this again. She presses him back against the counter, her feet cushioned between his own, the denim of his jeans against her bare shins. The kitchen floor is cold under her feet. 

They kiss for long minutes, slow and deep, his arms threading around her waist, arching her back, pulling her against him. All she can process is the feel of him, the way he takes her weight against him, like she's nothing, like he could scoop her up as if she's a feather. The house is quiet apart from the way she sighs against his mouth.

He withdraws slightly, his face still close to hers, and murmurs in her ear. "It's late."

She knows what he's saying. He's giving her a chance to call it a night, to not let this evening snowball into something that they should take their time over. It's a kind gesture, even though the idea of him leaving right now is the last thing she wants. And it's true - they had been hasty earlier this evening, had been barrelling headlong into something before Maggie had interrupted. Meredith keeps telling herself that they have time now, there is a chance for all of this, all the things that are measured in a new relationship, to come at the normal intervals. But she can't forget that they have been down this path before. They have been on dates, have spent time together, have had many of their firsts already. They aren't strangers running into something without thought, propelled solely by lust and fire. And from experience she knows that there is never enough time when it comes to something that really counts. And he really counts.

"I know," she whispers back, her hand stroking against his jaw, thumb dragging along until it reaches his lower lip. "So you should just stay here."

She gives him a look, heavy and deep and full of meaning. There's no way he can misinterpret it for anything less than it is.

A faint look of surprise crosses his face, before it is quickly gone. "That's a good line," he smiles, kissing the tip of her thumb. "Just so you know. In case you want to use it again."

\---

She leads him upstairs to her bedroom, the creaks of the floorboards following them. It feels different to the last time she'd taken a man up here. That had been Link, and while he had been kind and lovely, he hadn't excited the same anticipation that is thrumming through her veins right now. Andrew follows her sedately, his eyes fixing on everything they pass, her mother's things, the framed photos, the ratty mat that runs the length of the hall. She can see him filing it all away, committing it to memory, although she wants to tell him there's no need. She's confident that he'll become familiar with everything over time.

She pauses at the threshold to her room, a little shy now. This is happening, it's really happening, she thinks. He hovers behind her, seemingly also sensing how momentous it is that they've made it this far.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice soft over her shoulder. She turns her head to glance back at him. She doesn't really have the right words to tell him that she's been waiting for this for so long. Everything in her mind sounds too sentimental and saccharine for her to speak it out loud. Instead she reaches out for his hand, grasping it firmly in her own. She feels his fingers curl around hers, and of all the things they've ever shared, it feels the most intimate of all. 

"Okay then," he utters in response to her actions, letting her pull him through the doorway. Her bedroom curtains are open, the light from the moon streaming in. She looks at her room objectively, as if seeing it through his eyes. A neatly made bed, matching lamps, very few trinkets, a handful of books. It isn't a space that she usually notices much until now confronted with the idea of how he might perceive it.

He gently pushes the door closed behind them, the click of the latch echoing into the room. It feels like a line is being crossed, one that they've been inching towards for so long, that it is hard to believe the moment is here. She feels nervous, but happily so.

They stand in front of each other, their breath finding a matching rhythm. His chest rises and falls as fast as her own. She sees him swallow heavily in the semi-darkness, his throat bobbing with the motion. He's nervous too.

"I feel like I should at least buy you dinner first," he babbles, hand running through his hair, leaving it unkempt and untidy.

She laughs despite herself. "You've bought me dinner before."

"Well, you know, that's how I like to do things," he protests, inching a little closer anyway.

"Are you saying that, right now, you don't want to have sex with me, and that you'd rather be taking me out for dinner?" It's her turn to tease him, finds herself cocking her head, mirroring his habit. She's rewarded with his broad grin. 

"You're not really dressed for dinner," he points out, his hands finding their way to the curve of her waist. It feels surprisingly chaste despite the situation and the fact that they're only inches from her bed, large and inviting. 

"I don't think I'm really dressed for sex either," she hints, although it's really not a hint, but a big fat neon sign that might as well be flashing over her head. 

"Oh, I can fix that," he says. And does.

\---

She's happy, happy, oh so happy. It's like her world has cracked open, but for once, it's not a disaster, anything but. 

He takes his time, and she appreciates that. Because while she's all too eager to experience this, to know him, she's also nervous, trembling, warm with anticipation and lust and a cauldron of other feelings swirling around inside of her. It doesn't help that when he takes his shirt off, she thinks he might be one of the finest male specimens that she's seen in real life. It's like he's literally been carved out of Italian marble, which seems only too appropriate. She just about expects, as she reaches out for him, that his skin would be cold to the touch. It's not, of course. He's warm and smooth, firm under her fingertips.

It almost makes her feel apprehensive when he slowly removes her robe. But he's so careful and tender, that any insecurities she may have felt just fade away into a fog of sensation and skin. She's reminded anew of what it's like to have his full attention, be completely under his scrutiny. He seems to sense everything she needs, before she even thinks to need it. 

They fall on her bed in a tangled haze, limbs and skin, and his mouth searching for hers always. The feel of him is like falling off a cliff into some kind of abyss, terrifying yet exhilarating, falling and falling, but never finding the ground. The bulk of him curls around her, comforting and protective, tugging her into tight alignment with his body.

His hands find her hair, her back, her hips, her thighs. Hers strip down any residual clothing that he hadn't had chance to remove before they tumbled into her duvet. She thinks he's trying to slow her down, senses his movements spreading out, pacing themselves. But her body feels only haste and urgency, so when her teeth nip at his lower lip, his throat, he seems to understand that he is fighting a losing battle.

There's a moment when it all comes together, when she's pressed her case, and he's looking up at her like she's hung the moon and the stars. And yes, she thinks, this was worth all of it, all the pain and the games and the waiting. Because although it had hurt, hurt them both, it had got them here, in that roundabout way. It had led them to this moment, where his hands have settled on her hips and he's letting her take control. 

She can see the reverence in his eyes, and it's almost too much for her to bear - to have someone look at her like that, when she thought that it could never be possible again. So she leans down to kiss him, just so that the feelings don't overwhelm her, swallow her up. But she finds that when he moves against her, it is hopeless to try and pretend that it's not the most perfect thing she's felt in a long time. 

He lets her have this one, lets her lead. He diligently follows, cradling and curving and somehow knowing where she needs to be touched to make it all come apart. It's perfect because she doesn't have to say a word, just lets the fire rise up inside of her, hotter and hotter until it's all she can feel and sense. And yet at the end of it all, he's there still, holding her, his hand on the back of her neck, thumb caressing a trail down her tingling spine.

She kisses him again, lost and humbled, limbs heavy with what she's just experienced, and yet still not sated. 

"Andrew," she whispers against his mouth, barely a whisper, more a sigh, her breath hot against his. Her skin is sticky, her temples warm with exertion. She pulls his weight against her, likes the feeling of his chest hard against hers, his body warmth seeping into her veins, like they are bleeding together into one person.

Now that she's ceded control, he takes it possessively - his hands still patient where hers were not, his actions laced with precision and attentiveness. She can tell he's measuring how each touch he places affects each exhale, each hitch in her throat. It's even more overwhelming than before, because she can't rush him this time - just has to lie back and let the notes play out a bigger, slow building, symphony. She'd admire his dedication if she didn't feel so frustrated and undone. But she can tell by his wolfish grin that he knows exactly what game he's playing, and is determined to win.

She loses all sense of time, only knows the feel of him, the way he moves, how the splay of her fingers feel against his shoulder blades. She arches, aching for more closeness, even though that's not possible, even though there is nothing between them anymore but this and the future. 

He somehow holds her there, in this state of suspense between the rise and the fall, hands tangled in her hair. A little more or a little less and she would collapse, but he's got her balanced precariously on the edge and in the end she has to beg him to let her go, let her fall, otherwise she thinks she might lose her mind, go mad. He releases her then and only then, rocking her gently, carefully, and as she comes apart, his own sighs are muffled against the curve of her neck.

She wants to laugh, loudly and at the top of lungs, but she's got no breath, no air left in her to do even the smallest thing. He shifts, rolling onto his back, but already she finds that's too much distance, so she pulls herself into his embrace, inhaling the scent of his skin against her nostrils, pressed hard into his throat. His chest shudders against her, still trying to catch up with itself, until his breath finally settles too, calming, deepening. They lie like that for long minutes.

Eventually he stirs, curling a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers tracing down from the shell to her lobe before coming to rest on her bare shoulder.

"I want to stay," he says quietly, hushed, "but I should go." She hears the reluctance, but knows why he's offering. He shouldn't be here in the morning, not quite yet, not like this. The fact that he's acknowledged that himself is more important to her than he could possibly know. But she also doesn't want him to leave, not yet, not now, even though she knows he's right - knows he's offering the sensible thing. They need to do this the right way, the patient way, especially when it involves her children.

But she's selfish, not ready to give him up to the night to have to lie here alone, remembering. "Not yet," she murmurs, her hand rising up to trace the curve of his jaw. His eyes are closed, his eyelashes longer than they have any right to be on a man.

"Mmm, okay," he sighs, voice already half muffled by the idea of sleep after such a long day. Just a little while, she thinks. It can't hurt. The sun won't rise for hours yet.

\---

Meredith awakes with a start, her heart jarring against her chest, a sharp inhale of breath. She doesn't know what's caused it, but it takes her a minute to adjust to her surroundings. Through her open curtains she can still see the moon, the pitch black of the sky. 

Her eyes land on her bathrobe, pooled gently on the floor beside the bed, and the memory floods back, visceral and instant, of her letting it fall, of him sweeping her up and into his arms. She feels her naked body against her sheets, moves her legs one by one against the material, revelling in the satisfying ache that pulls at her muscles. She bites her lip at the recollection, and rolls over.

He's there still, curled up on his side, arm outstretched across the bed towards her. He looks crumpled by sleep, a bit messily imperfect, apart from the fact that he's still just as handsome even in such an unguarded moment. The sheets have tangled about his torso, but she sees enough of his body in the sliver of moonlight to be reminded of it all in vivid striking detail. 

She smiles to herself, can even feel her face flushing warmly. She doesn't want to wake him, but also feels the absence of him already, even though he's only inches away. So despite how peaceful he looks, she reaches out anyway, her hand running up his arm, to his shoulder. He doesn't stir, so she moves closer, aligning her body with his, placing herself against his skin, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

She hears a low hum emerge from his throat as he adjusts to her presence, his arm curling instinctively around her, pulling her closer still. She can't see his face, but feels his lips ghost over her forehead.

"Do I need to go now?" he mumbles, his voice low and heavy with sleep. She feels the words echo through the chambers of her body, and she thinks again about how she should say yes, but how she can't bear to do without his warm mass pressed against her in the darkness.

She tilts her head up, wanting to look at him, undone and relaxed in her bed. The image of his restful face gives her a feeling of calmness that she hasn't felt in a long time. Without considering it too much, she gently presses her lips to his parted ones, a small gesture more for her sake than his. But the moment she does it, he seems to respond instantly, even from the depths of his half awake state. She's a bit surprised, but pleased nonetheless, that he's so reactive to her. 

Meredith lets him kiss her, slowly, a bit hazily, and it's so languid and indulgent that it feels like her muscles are uncoiling themselves. 

He pulls back after a minute, starts stretching out his limbs. "Mmm, okay, I'll get up in a minute," he says groggily, answering his own question from before. Meredith realises she never replied.

"No," she protests, threading her arm around his back, as if the strength in her small frame would be any match for his if he decided to move. He inhales, exhales, settles back against her without any further words. He's back asleep in moments. She's not far behind.

\---

When Meredith wakes again, she can see it's not light outside yet, but that it's somewhere on the cusp of sunrise. The birds are starting to sing but otherwise the house is still quiet. 

Her bed feels big and empty, and when she opens her eyes properly she sees that she's alone, the covers on his side smooth against the mattress, like he's attempted to make his side of the bed, even with her still sleeping. She places her hand on his pillow, the indentation of him still present. She feels some residual warmth as her hand runs over the space. He can't have been gone long.

She feels disappointed, but at the same time grateful that he'd had the presence of mind to take his leave, despite her words to the contrary. He somehow already knows that he'll have to be the one to take action, to do the things she doesn't have the strength to insist on in her weaker moments. Nevertheless, part of her wishes that he could've stayed, could've been there to kiss awake. But that will come, she knows. She'll make sure of it.

Meredith pulls her body upright, stretching out her neck and back, wondering whether she should get up, get an early start, when she notices a piece of paper on the bedside table next to her.

She recognises his messy handwriting, the way the letters are tall and curved but written with an impatience and passion that seems to sum him up. Her eyes have to adjust to his scrawl, but it's simple enough: _I didn't want to wake you, but didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Although, I hope to see you in a few hours. Maybe at lunch? Secretly, of course._ He's underlined the word 'secretly' several times, and it makes her laugh.

She thinks of how far they've come, of how easily this could all have gone wrong, and how easily it almost did. Hugging her knees to her chest, she clasps his note in one hand, like it's a piece of him to hold close. The truth is that she doesn't know what will happen, can't predict what's around the corner. But she's no longer afraid to seize her happiness anymore, and can maybe even see the future shaping itself in front of her. And although it's still terrifying, still shakes her to her core, Meredith knows she's done with running away. And maybe, just maybe, she'll run towards something - _someone_ \- instead.


End file.
